


Lest We Remember

by stacy_l



Series: Fettered Roses [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stacy_l/pseuds/stacy_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events of the past can inadvertently affect events of the future.</p>
<p>So when I first started writing for this fandom I wrote a bunch of short stories trying to find the voices of the characters.  The first few are a little off but at this point in time I had been relatively new to the SPN fandom.  Still it was interesting and fun to try a new fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lest We Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in November 2008.

[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4652688)

As I gaze at him in his crib I smile. He’s perfect, so perfect. He snuggles into the blankets further making little mewling sounds, and I feel my insides melt. He’s mine. I gave him life. I carried him for nine months inside my body placing such love and such hope into the new life we had created, and I know that he will grow strong. I just know he will. 

As I study his angelic face I find myself feeling certain, sure that he IS John’s, for such a perfect child could never come from a monster. 

I never spoke to my husband about it, never revealed to John the events of that night, the night my life was inexplicably altered forever, the night my nightmares became all too real. The night that my final hunt came back to haunt me. 

The attack was so sudden, so unexpected. I wasn’t ready for it, and I couldn’t fight him off. I tried, oh how I tried, but he was so much stronger than I, a man with an insatiable lust, a man who was a monster. 

I never told John about him, about the stranger who waltzed into my life, waltzed in and tore everything from my grasp ripping my world to shreds. I never told him, never breathed a word to him…or to anyone else for that matter. No one knew of the events of that fateful night, no one, and to this day I spend countless hours pushing it away, the memory that won’t quite die. I buried it so long ago determined never to let it out again. 

The events of that night should be extremely unclear, but they’re not. They haunt me still threatening to break through the thin veil of control I have in place to keep them submerged, forgotten, lost… 

I can’t remember, to remember brings such pain, such rage, such anger and loathing. I can’t think about it, so I keep it permanently buried, silenced for all eternity…or so I had hoped. 

As I look down upon my son yet again I remember all that had happened on that horrid night feeling the slightest nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Fear enters as I find myself asking if he is John’s. He opens his eyes and looks at me with such intensity that I gasp hesitantly reaching towards him nearly pulling away when his tiny little fingers wrap around mine. He’s beautiful, so precious, and so perfect. There is no way he could belong to that monster. 

He continues to watch me and his chubby cheeks become more apparent as he smiles. I feel my heart melting as I carefully pick up the precious bundle and draw him to me. As I gaze at him I find myself returning his smile drawing him closer to my body as if to shield and protect him. I place a tender kiss to the top of his head and whisper, “I love you, Dean.” 

He shifts in my arms his little body fitting so perfectly in them gazing up at me before sleep lulls him again. Smiling broader I begin to hum softly rocking him in my arms relaxing when I feel the familiar hand being placed upon my shoulder as John leans in to look. He’s smiling I’m certain as he quietly says, “That’s my boy…” 

Those words spoken with such certainty, such conviction, drive an invisible stake deep into my heart as I again dare to wonder just who fathered this precious child. As I think of the possibility I become cold and Dean begins to fuss in my arms, the only thing to soothe him: the tender touch of daddy’s hand upon his forehead as he urges his son to rest. 

Tears well up in my eyes and I nearly tell him, but as Dean snuggles deeper into my arms I feel I can relax. Everything will be fine. I have nothing to worry about for there is no possible way that my precious little boy could have been created from such a violent act. There is no possible way.

 

** The End **


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